


Never Heed

by dogmatix, norcumi



Series: Ghosts of 66 [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Deathfic, F/M, GFY, M/M, Post Order 66, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3376397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sith Emperor is dead.</p>
<p>A clone visits one more pyre in his long life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Heed

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack, and title taken from [Bang Your Drum](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RHRC184WqD0).
> 
> This would not have come about without the inadvertent influence of [alexiel_neesan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alexiel_neesan). Thank you, and we hope you enjoy!

He walked into a small clearing, staring around in something right between suspicion and awe. The forest had already started to reclaim the pyre, a simple stack of wood instead of the old Jedi light chambers he remembered, and he couldn’t help but think that this was better, more appropriate.

More human.

His guide yipped another hostile little “Yub yub” before slipping back into the trees, hissing displeasure. He wasn’t too surprised; the protocol droid translating for the Ewoks had told him they’d been most insistent that the clearing was now unclean, haunted.

He was more than half hoping that was right.

One week, since the Emperor had finally died.

One week, and two and a half days since he’d had his last bacta treatment. While the medics had declared him fit to travel, their looks when he’d made it clear he was going right back to the front, new cybernetics be damned –

Medics never changed.

Neither did he, not really. He might be old, old before his time in so many ways, but he was a soldier.

Nothing would ever take _that_ from him. 

He settled down carefully, ignoring the damp on the grass already soaking into his pants. His new leg still had a chrome sheen to it, everything beneath the left knee still that new, uncertain cyber that didn’t fit any of his boots worth a damn. He’d have to do something about that; the chrome was way too fucking gaudy, didn’t sink into the background in the way he’d needed over his years as a spy. Also, he refused to be a shiny in any sense of the word.

Some habits would never die, and he was obscurely pleased with that.

He indulged in one of his newer habits, not quite seven years old. His right hand, also cybernetic below the wrist, flexed slowly. He took it through its paces, articulating his fingers into and then back out of a fist, one slow degree at a time. He’d started it as a measure in patience, bored to tears in a bacta tank and trying to acclimatize to the new limb. Explosion, hadn’t it been? Landing the TIE fighter in a field? Who knew those eyeballs could take a landing _that_ badly. By the time he’d gotten out of his bacta bath, he’d decided to justify the habit as meditation, or some such crap like that. The local med droid had given him a look, but when he’d made it clear he was a clonetrooper, the clanker had backed off. 

Jedi and meditation were an expected mix.

Admittedly not _his_ General, but the droid hadn’t needed to know that. 

He finally looked up at the warped _thing_ lying atop charred logs. Fire-twisted black duraplast, bright shine still showing in a few places where rain had washed away soot. The infamous skull-faced helmet. Four cyber limbs, three of them crude, minimalist pieces of crap that would inhibit the wearer’s movement, constrain one to precise movements without the grace or power of actual flesh. 

The right arm, in contrast, retained a faint golden hue, highlighting the mechanical wonder his General had spent so much time honing. It was beautifully articulated still, though looking worn in places. 

Probably hadn’t been tweaked in years. He closed his eyes and leaned back, letting clean, fresh air whisper around him. This was a good place, he decided. It would be good that Anakin had gotten a pyre here. Sure, the General had adored Coruscant, but he’d always had an appreciation for nature, even if he didn’t always know what to do with it. 

He knew the feeling. He let the sunlight that made it this far down warm him, sinking into his skin and wrapping him in a gentle haze that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel for awhile. 

Fighting a war always kept him busy.

He inhaled softly, not quite a gasp, as warmth gathered at his back. It tingled in a way sunlight didn’t manage, a near electrical feel raising the little hairs on his neck. He smiled, a touch relieved, a touch surprised that he wanted to cry.

It wouldn’t be Obi-Wan this time. Kenobi wouldn’t do that to him. Wouldn’t appear here and give him fake hope about who was visiting. This could only be one man. 

“General,” Rex said, voice soft.

The presence behind him went still, like the breeze was holding its breath, then the electrical hum moved closer. He could almost feel a hand settle atop his head, moving lightly along hair still short but no longer dyed, now an ordinary steel gray with a higher widow’s peak than he quite liked.

Vanity was another quiet habit he hadn’t really gotten over. 

Fuck, he _was_ crying. Rex opened his eyes as the presence pulled back a little. He turned, and grinned as he got to his feet. He was a little slower, a lot creakier than he used to be, and here was his damnfool General, translucent blue but looking like he had the last time Rex had seen the bastard. 

“Rex.” Anakin’s voice echoed in that quiet, slightly strange way that ghosts had, sounding a little surprised that he’d been spotted.

“It’s good to see you again.” He rolled his eyes a little at the near-wounded look of a man not quite daring to hope he was hearing correctly. “It _is_ , you kriffing idiot.” He stepped forward, half closing his eyes and _believing_ , since according to Obi-Wan that was a large chunk of how the Force actually worked. 

Mostly closed eyes, vision obscured from weeping, made it easy enough to imagine it was memory, though he had never embraced his General when the man was alive. His arms closed around something just solid enough to exist. After a long, awkward moment, Anakin returned the gesture.

Rex let himself indulge in the hug, holding tight for long moments. When he finally let go, he had to swipe his eyes a few times and clear his throat in order to speak. “Sorry, just – I wasn’t sure you’d show up.”

Anakin had an almost tentative smile. “It was pretty obvious you weren’t going anywhere any time soon.”

“Figured it was best to stop by sooner instead of later?”

The General ignored the teasing tone, looking away and wincing. “I don’t understand, though. Why _are_ you here?”

He sighed. He’d expected this sort of stupidity, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy it. “Why wouldn’t I be here?” Rex tried hard to keep his voice neutral and soft, absolutely nonjudgmental.

General Skywalker started to pace, his cloak fluttering behind him in some nonexistent wind. “Because...because of...everything. That I did.”

“I’ve spent a long time being pissed about what Darth Vader did, if that’s what you’re talking about.” Anakin winced, and it took a lot of self-control to keep Rex from reaching out to put a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. He’d had plenty of years to overcome military restraint, and he much preferred a warmer, more humane approach. He took in a deep, bracing breath instead. “But General, my brothers – my friends, the men who served with me, the men who I led – they did horrible things too.” The memories still haunted him, almost broke him on bad days when he remembered the Order. The slaughter.

Vidfeed of the Temple, which wasn’t nearly as bad as the horrific experience of walking through a ruined building, seeing bloodstains and blaster scars everywhere. His brothers. His 501st.

His Jedi, his General. Murderer of the Jedi Order.

Killers of children.

“I hate that they, _we_ were forced to become the worst kind of murderers and thugs. I don’t hate them; I hate the bastard who forced us into that position. How the hell could I be angry with someone else in the exact same boat?”

Anakin looked at him for a long moment, then lunged forward into another hug. The electrical tingle of the Force snugged tight around him, in what must have been a bone-crushing hold had they both been alive. Rex held on just as tight, shaking a little as he tried to expel the memories of his General kneeling before a monster. Anakin’s face then had been almost empty, his eyes _broken_. His body language was all wrong, slumped and subdued instead of proud and confident.

The Darth Vader who had destroyed the Jedi had been at most a shell that had once been Anakin Skywalker.

“I missed you,” Rex whispered. It had been so long, _too_ long. He’d spent over twenty years seeing the Empire’s monster in his General’s place, and to have him back, in any form – _Gift of the Force. Never thought I’d say that._

“You’re an idiot,” Anakin muttered back.

“Takes one to know one, Sir.”

They were both giggling the strained laughter of the emotionally exhausted. Anakin let go first, and Rex slumped back down into the grass. The General joined him a moment later, a comfortable silence stretching out between them.

“I was glad,” Anakin finally declared. “Hated losing you to teaching on Kamino, but...I was glad you weren’t on Coruscant.”

Rex sighed and nodded, staring up at the trees around them. “I came anyways, soon as I heard. Temple was still smoking when I got there.”

He could see the General’s wince. “I’d heard that you defected the day after...”

“After the Empire declared itself, yeah. I wasn’t bred for that shit. That wasn’t what the war was about.” The silence got heavier, until Rex made himself ask. “I found the reports about afterwards, but all Temple injuries were blamed on the Jedi. How many _did_ you have to shoot?”

Anakin’s swallow was audible. “Two dozen, give or take. Lightsaber, not blaster. When – when Kix saw younglings go down, he switched to stun and pulled two whole squads to a halt, all by himself. Jesse was in another squad I told to stand down and back away from the padawans they were guarding, and you know how he was about instigating shit. After that it was just a mess. I think it was the shock, and 66 that kept them moving after that.”

“Not all of them.” Force, but it was hard, pushing those words out. “We might all come from one man, General, but we always worked hard to be individuals. There were still clones in Vader’s Fist a few years ago.”

“...stupid fucking name.” Anakin shook his head. “Rebels worked hard to take out some of those squads, ‘a few years ago.’ I don’t suppose you know anything about that, would you?”

Rex’s grin was feral; brutal and self-satisfied. He rapped his right leg, the dura-steel up to mid-thigh thunking underneath his trousers. “Lost a good two-thirds of my squad along with the leg, but every being there thought it was worth it. Those clones weren’t my brothers, not after all of that. Not with what we caught them doing.”

General Skywalker wasn’t paying a damn bit of attention to what Rex was saying, of course. He finally glanced up from the normal-looking leg to Rex’s face, his distress verging on horror. “ _Shit_ , how many –”

“I’m still one limb ahead of you, General. Shut your mouth and remember not too many of us made it this far, and even fewer clones ever expected to live this long.” Rex waggled the fingers of his flesh hand in an almost mocking wave. “I’m working hard to keep this, don’t worry.”

The ghost’s expression was still heart-broken, and he reached out with a hand, halting when they both could see Rex’s limb through it. The General stopped and pulled back, hand clenching into a fist. “You aren’t supposed to follow my lead _that_ much,” he finally said, voice faint but thick.

He grinned, knowing his own expression was wan. “Some things we treat as lessons in what _not_ to do. That was one of them.” He shrugged. “Not letting my men down was one of the lessons I _did_ retain.”

Anakin kept staring at Rex’s mechanical hand. “I didn’t keep to that, though.”

“General. Anakin. I saw the Temple’s vidfeeds, from security.” The ghost went still, his eyes closing for a pained moment. “That wasn’t you, no more than it was the 501st that destroyed the Temple. We were broken, them and you and me, all of us. You didn’t let your men fall before you did. You were our first casualty that day. I know the difference, I knew it then.”

Both ghostly hands were now clenched into fists. “I remember it, though. I made those decisions, I gave the orders, I stuck down my own soldiers. I killed children.”

“The man who made those decisions wasn’t you. I’m sorry, General, but I know a crushed soldier when I see one. You were taking orders from Palpatine the same way any other broken puppet does. Your body might have carried those actions out, but you didn’t have any more choice in the matter than my men did. Some of them went against their training, choosing to be bad soldiers instead of broken men, and they died for it. Different deaths, different ways and times. That’s all.” When the General said nothing, did nothing but glare helplessly at a patch of grass, Rex sighed. He reached out and on his second try he could feel it settle on an almost insubstantial shoulder. “One of the greatest mind fucks possible is making a victim believe they deserve whatever it is they get subjected to.” _That_ got the General glaring up at him, which at least was progress. “Then twisting things so they do awful shit, so they feel indebted to the bastard in the first place, for accepting them, excusing the horrors they did on orders. Keeps cycling back round and round, and that’s a horrible way to treat any being. Doing shit just because you were ordered to isn’t any excuse. But saying you had any choice other than to lie down and die? I dunno, Sir, doesn’t sound like even that was an option.” Rex nodded over towards the armor Vador was infamous for. “That looks like a pretty solid jail to me.”

They glared each other down for long moments, then Anakin laughed. “When the hell did you become a philosopher?”

He snickered right back and looked up at the bright sky. “Nah, not my style. Had a few idiots sitting me down with mind healers a few times, so I might’ve picked up a few things.” He smiled in spite of himself. “Also sat in on a few ethics and philosophy lessons once upon a time, and it was all relevant stuff. That was probably intentional, but not for my benefit.”

“I have trouble imagining you sitting through lessons like that.”

He laughed, that bizarre feeling of being free of old emotional burdens still careening strangely about in his soul. “Force, General Skywalker, what the hell do you think I was doing my first five years? We got crammed full of everything the Kaminoans thought we could use, and we fucking well learned or else. It wasn’t ever _all_ about how to shoot things and then deal with the enemy when our blasters ran out of charges.”

“Oh, that was just sometimes?”

“Special occasions, and all that.” They grinned at each other, and Anakin finally let out a deep sigh.

“Sounds like you had someone looking out for you, at least. You found a special someone, Rex?”

He hesitated, not sure how to travel those prickly waters. “No, I’m...that’s not how I’m wired, General,” he finally temporized. He could see Anakin’s curious look, and he was willing to bet that it hadn’t quite flown true. “’Sides, been too busy. Have a rebellion to fight. We still do, even with Palpatine dead. There’s still the rest of the structure in place. Can’t just remove the head and call it a day.”

Rex wasn’t expecting the hesitant, _suspicious_ look he got. “...You’re not here to – to do something _rash_ , are you?”

He somehow moderated a howl of laughter to an amused snort. “That’s rich, coming from you. No, absolutely not. I’ve got plenty of fight left in me. Besides.” He couldn’t stop the gentle, wry smile he always got when seriously considering the folks he thought of as family in the privacy of his own mind. “There’s still people who would have my head if I did something like that.” 

Anakin tilted his head a little, expression curious and speculative. “Not a special someone, but...?” 

_No avoiding it._ Well, not like he really wanted to avoid it. If nothing else, the man was dead, and how far could he spread tales? “Kid I watched grow up. My first real post-Republic job, playing bodyguard to a regular little tyrant. Adorable as all get out, but had her folks wrapped around her little finger before she could talk.” His grin went soft, perhaps a little daft, but he was justified. “I wasn’t the _only_ person around to say no to her, but let’s just say it was a good thing it took her awhile to get coordinated enough for blaster lessons.” 

“You taught her how to defend herself, huh?” Anakin snickered, looking as proud as Rex felt, approving as any uncle or Mando’ade.

“Absolutely,” he growled. Blaster, combat, how to punch and kick instead of slap. How to _fight_.

“She sounds fantastic. You have a holo?”

Rex hesitated long enough for it to be awkward, and he just could not look his General in the eyes. This was harder than he’d expected. “...No. Too risky.” At the curious, confused look, he took a deep breath and looked Anakin Skywalker in the face. “Couldn’t have an old clone working for the Rebellion and carrying around a holo of Princess Leia, as a Senator or a youngling.”

He’d never seen the General look stricken like that. “What?” His voice was soft, almost breaking, and it made Rex’s heart clench.

Somehow he summoned up a faint, sad grin. “Bail told me. I was hiding with a local cell of the Rebellion, maybe a year after things went to shit. Recognized the Senator, and he knew it. He recognized me, too. I got hauled into his office in binders, but...” He gave a rueful shrug. Facts of life were rarely kind. “Always knew that sort of thing would be a risk for me. He quizzed me, declared he had a horrible, tough assignment for me, if I wanted. Conditional upon my reaction to top secret intel, and if I blinked the wrong way he’d shoot me himself. He told me who she was. I told him if he didn’t give me the job I’d shoot _him_ myself. Apparently that was the right answer.” 

“You...took care of my daughter?” Anakin still sounded like he’d taken a few blows to the head. Understandable, but even more awkward.

“And made sure she could take care of herself. Not quite the shot her mother was, but Leia was always more busy with the espionage side of things.” He snickered, knowing the fond look he had made him look like the universe’s biggest idiot. “Brat.”

“...Thank you.” The soft whisper made Rex flinch, but the fervent expression the General gave him was so open and brutally relieved, he found old habits had him sitting upright and at attention automatically. “I – _Thank you._ ”

Rex smiled and shook his head, voice only a little hoarse. “I’m glad I got the opportunity. You’ve got some great kids.” 

Anakin looked away, his expression hovering between awed and stricken. “...yeah. They really do seem to be.”

“You haven’t been looking in on them?”

The ghost went still, then looked down at his hands. “I don’t deserve that.”

“Oh fucking banthashit.” Anakin blinked and stared at him. Rex rolled his eyes, wondering how often he’d be doing that. “You spent the last twenty-five years suffering.”

“And causing more.”

“So consider it all balanced out in the end, gods.” Rex leaned back and ran a hand over his hair. “Well, now I know why Obi-Wan was pestering me.”

“You’ve _seen_ him?”

“How the hell do you think I’d know how to hug a ghost?” At the blank look, the clone grinned and settled back. “He talked me through that, admittedly. Didn’t get a chance to practice it. I think he suspects I’d also punch him if we tried.”

“Would you?” Anakin sounded fascinated in spite of himself, so Rex had to give him a wolf’s grin. 

“Only one way we’re ever going to find out.” Anakin gave a bark of laughter, and they settled back into comfortable silence. Finally Rex sprawled back on the grass, folding his hands behind his head. “He also said you’re avoiding him.”

“Not – I mean – only a little?”

He snorted, since that wasn’t likely to be accurate. When that didn’t get a rise out of the man, Rex sighed. “He misses you, too.”

“...how often _do_ you talk with him?”

It was finally his turn to hesitate. “Every few months, unless the shit’s really hitting the fan. Then more often. Never before four years ago. I’d – Bail never told me how – I didn’t know the fucker was alive. Didn’t know ghosts were real, so it wasn’t like there was any way I could check.” The silence got heavier, sharper. Rex closed his eyes, struggling with the broken pain and hints of frustrated anger that still seeped through, even after all these years and the whole fucking _pointlessness_ to it. “I’m hoping one of these days I’ll run into Bail, just so I can see if I _can_ punch a ghost. I know _why_ he never told me, but...” He swallowed down the usual tears that tried to ambush him when he looked too long at the topic. “But the bastard never told me. If I’d known General Kenobi was still alive, in any way, shape or form, I would’ve –” He stopped, tried to breathe. Had to try again. “I –” He shook his head, not knowing what to say or how to say it.

It was a relief to not have to. Anakin moved closer, that near-electrical warmth cautiously wrapping around him in another hug. “Never visits often enough, huh?”

It wasn’t really a laugh, whatever the sound Rex made was. “No.” He made himself breathe evenly for a bit, then he shrugged. “We were made for you Jedi. Another habit I never really got over. I’ve _missed_ you, you idiot.”

The not-quite-a-hug tightened. “Missed you too.”

They’d never sat like this before, holding on to each other and just waiting, letting the world, the _galaxy_ do whatever it damned well pleased with itself. It made for a nice change. Anakin was the first to let go, possibly based on some Jedi thing since Rex was almost at the point of wondering how to gracefully extract himself. After Rex swiped his face clear again, his General cleared his throat.

“So. After this, you’re going back to the fight.”

“I told you. We still have a war to win. Palpatine’s dead, but the Empire isn’t, not yet. And I’m a soldier. That’s what I do.”

“...and when the war’s over?” Anakin’s voice was so soft, tentative, he almost couldn’t hear it.

Rex sighed and looked away, letting the deceptive peacefulness to the forest surround him. “Is it ever really over? Or just another war?”

“...I think it has to end some time. Some how.”

He grunted, not really sure he believed. Then he shrugged, rolling the weight of reality off his shoulders in favor of hope. “Then I guess I need to find another job. I liked playing bodyguard to a precocious brat. Think the Organa-Solos would be looking to spawn any time soon?”

Rex had the absolute delight in seeing Anakin Skywalker shocked speechless, right before the ghost bolted upright and _glared_. “She _isn’t_. Solo? _Han Solo_? They weren’t just – I thought they were, you know, _friends_ , that’s it!”

It was a huge struggle to not grin too much. “Not sure what she sees in him. Doesn’t really respect authority, even if he is a damned good pilot. Went through the academy and everything, but gave it up to help a slave. What the hell is the galaxy coming to, when royalty like Princess Leia falls for a rebel like that.”

The murderous glare he got was too much. Rex doubled over with laughter which only got worse when the great General Skywalker glared away with a grumbling huff. “Your sense of humor hasn’t improved.”

“No, just my sense of irony,” he chortled. “She’s a lot like both her parents, you know.”

He could see Anakin struggling against a smile, only to lose. A huge, proud, and baffled grin spread across the man’s face. “Thanks. That – that means a lot.”

“Just the truth, General.” He didn’t try to hide the huge grin he had in return.

After a moment, Anakin nudged him. “So. What’ve you heard about Luke?”

“He’s busy with the Jedi thing, but I’ve been on a few ground assaults with him. Good man. Good head on his shoulders, for the most part a good leader. Just needs some practice. He...doesn’t know who I am, other than an old friend of Leia’s. I mean, he didn’t. Not until –” He had to stop and swallow the lump that had sprouted back in his throat. Force, he hadn’t been on this kind of an emotional roller coaster in years. It was flat out embarrassing.

Anakin nodded over at the remains of the pyre. “How to find me.”

“Yeah.”

His General looked away with a small, genuinely happy smile. “I’ll have to thank him.” He shook his head and glanced back at Rex with the sly, mischievous grin that he remembered, that he’d missed so damn much. “What’d he make you pay to get the intel?”

“Every last story I had on you, especially the embarrassing ones, the humanizing ones. He’s heard plenty of the No Shit stories about the great war hero General Skywalker, not so many about the idiot who kept losing his lightsaber. _Shit_ , he has your grin.”

“What?” Anakin blinked, the disorienting expression melting away into confusion.

“Your grin. The one that means you’re going to get into lots of trouble, there’s bound to be explosions, and everyone ought to be carrying extra blaster chargers.” Rex shook his head and looked away, swiping at leaking eyes again. “It didn’t – it _hadn’t_ – I mean –” He shivered, eyes snapping closed as grief hit him again. “I forgot,” he whispered, only this time it was not an apology made to a silent, uncaring universe. He could practically feel the sympathy from the man as the not-quite-there sensation settled onto his shoulder. “I forgot it looked like that.” Dammit, he couldn’t stop crying. The touch moved from his shoulder into another hug. “I’m sorry, General.”

“Fuck that,” Anakin growled in a moment of surprising profanity. “It’s been _twenty-_ _five_ years. Don’t – look, just don’t. Please.”

It was almost a plea, almost an order. He could still follow orders from this man. Rex nodded, trying hard to get his breathing under control, the damn fool tear ducts that were working on overdrive. It took ridiculously long, but he finally was breathing in a manner approaching normal, no longer looking like some weepy idiot from an afternoon holodrama. When he pulled away, he even managed a weak grin for the General.

Didn’t fool the man, but that was all right. “So.” Hell, even Anakin sounded gruff, as if he were fighting down his own tears. “You can’t possibly have had enough time to tell Luke _all_ the embarrassing stories about me.”

Rex chuckled in spite of himself. “No, just enough to placate both of us. Started recording some more on the flight here, and then I started another holo with things about General Kenobi. When you see Obi-Wan, make sure to tell him, and that if he doesn’t get his immaterial ass by to visit more often, then I’m going for the _really_ embarrassing stuff.”

Anakin tossed his head back and laughed, the sound breaking through the melancholy that clung to them still. “Shit, you’ve got how many lifetimes worth of blackmail on us?”

Rex gave him the wolf’s grin again. “That would be telling.” Amongst his General’s snickers, the grief gently dissipated. Rex slumped back on the grass, watching the sky darken into twilight. He glanced over at Anakin, and he grinned. “I should head back soon. Vicious little bastards, the natives.”

“The Ewoks?” Anakin looked surprised, glancing over at the trees and shaking his head. “I know they gave the troops difficulties, but I figured it was classic guerrilla fighting problems.”

“They’re fuzzy little Wookies. With pointy teeth. My guest hut, I shit you not, is decorated with the skulls of conquered enemies. And stormtrooper buckets. Some of the skulls have _teeth_ marks. Force help us all if they _did_ grow to be properly Wookie sized.”

It was no surprise that Anakin blanched, then grinned like a man fascinated. “Wow. Now I _really_ want to meet some.”

He only hesitated a moment. “Then come back with me? I think the local shaman might be willing to talk to the ghost of the unclean clearing.”

“Unclean.” Anakin glanced over at the pyre, then raised a sardonic brow at Rex. “Wonder how that happened.”

“He might consider it a ritual of cleansing?”

He couldn’t understand the look he was getting. It was part fond, part exasperated, and in several ways just wondering. “Force, Rex. You swear like a Jedi, you philosophize like a mind healer, and you’ve got all the scars of a soldier. What the hell happened to you?”

The old clone looked away with a shrug and a wry smile. “Too much death. Too long a life. Too much war, and too much peace I never knew what to do with. Everything. Family, losing it and gaining it or seeing it die or go down fighting. I’m a soldier. I’m _your_ soldier. You didn’t really think just any idiot lugging a blaster could keep up with you, did you?”

Anakin _gaped_ at him for a long moment, then lunged forward into another hug. “We never gave you – any of you – enough credit, did we?”

Rex held on tight again, shaking his head with a smaller grin. “Never cared about the credit, just getting the job done, and getting it done right. If we had to wrangle our Jedi along the way, well, that was just part of the job.”

When the General finally stopped laughing, they were both sprawled out on the grass again. Rex was fairly certain that after giving him another grin, Anakin was trying to give him a playful punch on the shoulder. He certainly wasn’t about to point out that the General’s hand went right through the shoulder instead.

“So, if that shaman tries to do anything other than talk, I’m going to do the ghost thing and dematerializing to go complain to Obi-Wan.”

He snickered and hauled himself upright. “Wait, what outcome are you trying to encourage?” He blinked, then paused. “You’re actually coming with me?”

“Well, you’ve got lots of blackmail material on me, and I suspect you have dirt on Obi-Wan that _I’ve_ never heard.” Anakin gave him that wicked grin again, sprawled on the ground and obviously not giving any damns. “Just try and get rid of me.”

* * *

Rex staggered into his guest hut, blinking the smoke of who knew what burning herbs out of his eyes.

“Well.” Anakin trailed after him, looking just as dazed. “That was...different.”

“I think he likes you.”

“ _Force_ I hope only platonical – Unholy gods!” The General stopped in his tracks, staring around at the hut’s decorations. “You weren’t kidding about the skulls of their enemies.”

“My sense of humor is actually better than that.” Rex sank down onto one of the little stools, groaning as he pulled off his boot. His feet didn’t actually get fatigued, but he really fucking needed to get a matched set of footwear. This was becoming absurd.

“Wow. I wonder who this was.” Anakin was staring at a skull of some sort, gawking up close. “Hope they didn’t stick around. I’d hate to meet them when they’re pissed.”

“Oh thank you very much, I needed that mental image.”

Anakin grunted, wandering down the wall to peer at more trophies. “I don’t think Force ghosts actually occur very often. I mean, aside from Obi-Wan, have you run across any?” 

Rex froze, an old memory he’d spent so much time wondering about poking at him. “...maybe. I...think so?” 

Of fucking course, that caught the General’s attention. “You think so? But you’re not sure?” 

“It was – it was a long time ago. Way before I knew – I had no idea ghosts were real.”

“Rex? What’s going on? Who was it?”

“Look, I’m not sure, alright? It was years ago, and I was telling tall tales anyways, so it was probably my imagination –”

A woman’s voice cut him off, sweet and wry. “They were very nice stories, Rex. A little bloodthirsty, but I do sometimes have to remind myself that Ani would tell much worse ones.”

Rex froze in place, wide-eyed and stunned. It had been years ago, on Alderaan, when he’d begun to take Leia out into the gardens to get her out of everyone’s hair. “Story time with Jare” had been a joy, a regular workout, and grounds for a generous pay bump from Bail. Yet starting the summer Leia had turned five, Rex had seen hints of a blue figure out of the corner of his eye more times than he liked to count. He’d only relaxed when he’d identified the figure, and dismissed the whole matter as a product of his child-stressed imagination.

Ghosts. Force help him.

Anakin had also frozen for a moment, then he spun around. Standing behind them was a translucent Padmé Amidala, arms crossed and a small, gentle smile on her face. She stepped forward, nodding once to the old clone before looking at the General. The man took two unsteady steps forward before dropping to his knees. “Padmé...I...”

She smiled and knelt down next to him, pulling him into a hug. “You’d do well to listen to Rex. He knows what he’s talking about.” Her voice dropped down to a whisper. “It’s good to see _you_ again, Ani.”

Rex slipped past them out the doorway. Happy as he was for his General, there were bound to be tears, possibly yelling, and that was their business. He blinked and hesitated a step when he saw a strange youngling near the guest hut. A small, glowing blue figure was braced against a railing; a blond human, dressed as a Jedi initiate. When he saw the clone looking, the boy shyly moved back a step. Rex walked over slowly, cautious little smile on his face. “Evening,” he called out.

The boy glanced at the hut, and grinned back. “Padmé didn’t say there was someone here who could see us.”

“She might have had a few things on her mind.”

The boy nodded, solemn as only younglings can be. “D’you think Master Skywalker will be willing to talk later?”

He knelt down, watching the boy cautiously approach. “Maybe. Who are you, youngling?”

“Liam, sir.” There must have been something in his expression, because the boy smiled, sad and rueful as no child could be. “I was at the Temple.” He glanced back at the hut and shrugged. “The others moved on into the Force, but...I remember Master Skywalker and Padawan Tano coming to the creche. He didn’t look like...you know.”

“Vader.”

The boy nodded. “I said I’d wait. So I’m waiting.”

Rex swallowed hard. “Gotcha. Good of you.”

“One of us had to. He’s been blaming himself for a lot.” The boy leaned closer. “Did you know he sulks a lot?”

“I think he’d call it brooding.”

Liam snorted in amusement, then shrugged. “You know.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, then stood and held out his hand. “You want to find an empty space and hear a story or two? They’re going to be awhile.”

Force, the kid had a bright smile, and the electrical sensation of a tiny hand slipping into his flesh and blood palm tingled up to his elbow. “You told good stories. I’d like that.”

“You heard them?”

“Padmé’s kept an eye out for us. She brought us along when you were telling stories to Leia, but she made sure we stayed quiet.”

Rex grinned and shook his head. “That’s Padmé for you. Alright. Keep clear of the fuzzy Wookies your size, and let’s find a spot.”

He was surprised at how good it felt, sitting down next to an eager youngling and spinning tall tales. They could see the guest hut from their new seats, lit inside with a faint blue glow, and Rex leaned back. He kept talking, flexing his hand through minute angle changes into and out of a fist. Little changes, tiny adjustments of progress. He found himself smiling at the ghost of a child, his General and the General’s wife behind him, and the village spread out before him.

Perhaps there was something after the war.

He’d have to go visit Leia soon. He missed playing bodyguard to a precocious brat. A third generation might be nice to see to. 

**Author's Note:**

> Other influences that will now not be spoilery: the ever glorious Flamethrower provided support and not-quite-an-OC, and there was some accidental input from the art/art blogs of [Shorelle](http://shorellestrikesback.tumblr.com) and [Cupcakelogic](http://cupcakelogic.tumblr.com).


End file.
